


Trust Me, I’m a Doctor

by bluevalentine69



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Arthur Makes Excellent Life Choices, Blow Jobs, Boys Being Boys, Car Park Smoking, Cupboard Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, FML - Fuck Merlin's Life, Funny, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Humor, Infidelity, Junior Doctor Merlin, Light Angst, M/M, Medicine, Merlin Has a Python, Merlin Makes Bad Life Choices, Rimming, Romantic slow burn, Specialist Consultant Arthur, Workplace Relationship, hook-ups, they'll get there in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 10:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17548391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluevalentine69/pseuds/bluevalentine69
Summary: Merlin is a Junior Doctor, Arthur is the Senior Consultant he's been assigned as his hospital mentor. He looks like Superman and he fucks like Superman and Merlin really, really hates him. Well. Mostly hates him. Hates him in a fond, ‘you’re annoyingly hot’ sort of way. If only he didn’t keep making Merlin come in his bloody pants ... not hooking up in broom cupboards would be SO much easier.Diagnosis: Fool In Love.Prognosis: Deeply Fucked.Thank god love is the best medicine.(Said no-one who’s been in love, ever.)





	Trust Me, I’m a Doctor

*****

 

_The first time it happens … is after the hospital staff’s Christmas party._

 

Merlin gasps as he’s pushed into a broom cupboard, fingers clutching at Arthur’s shirt - _or maybe I’m pulling it_? Merlin thinks - mind fuzzy with alcohol - _maybe this is all my fault?_ Something in the back of his brain is vaguely clamouring _you don’t even like this prick!_ , but Arthur’s broad, hard, firm body feels solid and warm and _wonderful_ against his own, and Merlin can’t help but rub against him when it feels this good. His smell - expensive cologne and musky shampoo and cigarettes and mint chewing gum and coffee - usually overpowering in its intensity and annoyingly self-assured in its potent masculinity, suddenly smells enticing and delicious, and Merlin feels _hungry_ , letting his tongue taste Arthur; licking into his mouth, running down his neck, dipping into the hollow behind his ear. His lips are soft and unyielding against Merlin’s, his teeth catch Merlin’s lip and all his addled brain supplies is _don’t let go, please don’t let go_ , his tongue sliding against Merlin’s makes a shiver trickle down his spine, and he feels molten, syrupy, as Arthur’s cock grinds insistently against his own. Merlin groans, drunk and consumed by Arthur and boiling with urgent need - lips on his neck, thumbs rubbing circles on his hipbones - and somehow one leg curls itself around Arthur’s waist, the other slipping between his, hands scrambling to pull Arthur even _closer_ , wanting anything, everything that Arthur will give him, when suddenly he’s shouting pearly release and inwardly howling at himself _Jesus Christ, you did not just come in your fucking pants from a SNOG, you utter, incomprehensibly gigantic, pathetically unforgivable FLANNEL!_ , and Arthur honest-to-god _giggles,_ sucking at Merlin’s neck. Merlin slumps bonelessly into the buckets and mops and mutters _“I hate you,”_ into the room and Arthur whispers _“I know”_ with a smile against his neck, gripping him to his chest as he comes too. Merlin closes his eyes, and when he wakes up, he’s alone, with a wad of paper towels thoughtfully shoved down his pants. _Absolute fucking wanker_ , Merlin curses, closing his eyes again.

 

*

 

_6 months earlier… in hot, sunny July._

 

It’s Merlin’s first shift at Albion Hospital as a junior doctor. He’s in soft black leather trainers, a simple white cotton tee under his pink scrubs, hair neatly parted, hospital pass round his neck, notebook in hand, waiting patiently at the nurses’s station in triage to meet the consultant doctor who’ll be mentoring him for the next nine months; he wants to make a good first impression. He’s chatting away to a friendly nurse named Gwen, when a shadow falls across the desk, and he looks up to see a blonde Clarke Kent/Superman doppelgänger in front of him, impossibly handsome in black square-rimmed glasses, a stethoscope around his neck. Merlin’s eyes flick down to his badge. A. Prat Dragon. His eyebrows raise as cool blue eyes meet his.

“Merlin?” Clarke Kent asks. Merlin nods slightly.

“Why does your badge say ‘a prat dragon?’” Merlin asks, curiously. Superman looks down with a shrug.

“My name’s Arthur Pendragon, and apparently I’m a prat. I think the nurses thought it was funny,” he says, looking at Gwen pointedly. Gwen stares at her desk studiously and tries not to smirk.

“Good to know,” Merlin grins.

“Ready?” Arthur asks. Merlin nods affirmatively and watches as Arthur is handed a clipboard for their first patient, following him through some blue curtains. A man is lying on the doctor’s table, curled up in what looks like quite considerable pain. Arthur looks at his notes and puts some plastic gloves on. “It seems you think you might have something lodged in your rectal passage?” Arthur enquires blandly. The man nods. Merlin schools his face into an expression of complete neutrality, but _what the holy fuck_. “Any idea what it might be?” Arthur asks politely, and Merlin’s eyes flick to his, thinking _you can’t actually be taking the piss right now_.

“No?” the man says uncertainly, questioning his own answer. Poor dude. 

“That’s okay,” Arthur smiles. “We’ll take a look, shall we?” Merlin watches as he asks the man to remove his trousers and lie on his side, liberally applies lube to a piece of medical equipment that looks like silver pincers, and proceeds to insert it into the man’s anus, glancing up at Merlin’s quizzical expression with a smirk as he extracts … well, a remote control wrapped in clingfilm, from the man’s bottom. “Odd place to keep it,” Arthur comments blithely, ignoring Merlin’s wince and gesturing for the man to pull up his trousers. “Still, I guess it pushes all the right _buttons_ , eh? Favourite _channel_ and all? No?” The man looks mortified and Merlin resolutely looks at the floor and Arthur grins at them both, leaving the man with a merry wave as he exits the examination cubicle and heads for the coffee machine. “Coffee?” he asks Merlin. Merlin nods, determined to stay silent, after … whatever that was. “It’s total shit,” Arthur says cheerfully, handing him a lukewarm paper cup of beige swill. He leans back against the counter, innocently. “Ever had anything up _your_ arse Merlin?” Merlin splutters grey liquid all over his scrubs as he coughs, cheeks flushing as he feels Arthur smirking at him. Annoyed at the lack of professionalism, blatant scope for homo-bashing, and his own less-than-cool reaction to this man, Merlin looks up at him irritably.

“Not without due diligence,” he snarks. If he’s hoping to annoy Arthur, he fails. Arthur just tilts his head consideringly, as if Merlin’s only confirmed what he expected all along, and nods.

“You’ll reconsider your life choices in a week.” Merlin bristles at what he imagines to be a thinly-veiled slight against his sexual orientation.

 

Over the coming weeks, Merlin does have to extract a lot of weird shit from people’s arses, under the ever-watchful gaze of A. Prat Dragon. Pens, spoons, a carrot, anaubergine, a glass bottle, a Buzz Lightyear toy, a can of deodorant, a mobile phone (for the buzz?). A suspected case of peritonitis (inflammation of the bowel) in an 87-year-old man turns out to be a live eel, biting his colon. Merlin no longer possesses the capacity for surprise, although he does wonder why more people don’t stick to plain old cocks and sex toys, like normal human beings. Arthur’s wrong though; he’s not reconsidering his life choices. When he’s not at work/crashing out in the night shift staff hospital beds, he’s happily shagging Edwin, a hot, older psychiatrist he met at a networking event just after starting at Albion, alongside sampling the impressive array of London Cock at his local gay nightclub, Knight Fever. What can he say? Sex has always been how he unwinds. A wrinkly aubergine is not about to put him off. And judging by the patchwork of hickeys that Arthur consistently sports, it hasn’t much dampened his sexual appetite either. In retrospect, Merlin wonders if by ‘life choices’ Arthur simply meant a career in medicine?

 

*

 

_The second time it happens … in bleak, icy February._

 

They’ve lost a little girl from the children’s ward, who’s been on Merlin’s daily scheduled rounds. Emily, 7, Leukaemia. Merlin’s in the locker room, leaning his arms and head against his locker, devastated, _furious_ , when strong hands grip his waist and pull him firmly backwards.

“Need distracting?” a deep, cultured voice utters close to his ear, and he spins around angrily and pushes Arthur against the locker behind him, shoving him again and again and again until Arthur twists him round and pins him hard against the locker, grabbing both his hands in one of his own, locking them above his head, and slides the other beneath his scrub pants, strong fingers firmly stroking Merlin’s cock until he comes with an anguished sob, letting his head thud back and tears soak his face, at which point Arthur removes his hand and wipes it unceremoniously at Merlin’s waist. “You know this already, but it wasn’t your fault,” Arthur says seriously, gripping Merlin’s shoulder before leaving the room.

 

*

 

_Three months earlier … in mid-November mania._

 

Back in triage, cold, grey morning, their next patient is an old granny … who mixes up their usual run of depressing anal events with something new and novel; she thinks she’s got something stuck up her vagina. Arthur nods at her courteously and asks what she thinks it might be? She’s got no idea. Arthur nods again and makes a few more notes. Then he sits down and explains to her that Merlin is a junior doctor in training, and would she mind if he examined her today? She runs an appraising glance down Merlin’s frame (who visibly restrains himself from flinching), and nods her acceptance, stepping behind the dreaded blue curtains to remove her clothing and position herself on the doctor’s table. Merlin grimaces at Arthur and gingerly pulls on hygiene gloves, trying very hard to keep his patient relaxed and comfortable, whilst fighting desperately hard to remain relaxed himself; he’s not a fan of vaginas at the best of times. He thinks he might actually be sick when the smell hits him, and closes his eyes for a moment of _I can’t fucking believe I’m doing what I successfully managed to avoid doing through high school_ , and inserts his fingers into a woman, realising too late, that closing his eyes and praying for mercy probably wasn’t the most reassuring thing to do.

Arthur’s leaning casually against the medical cabinet, a small smirk playing about his lips as he watches Merlin work, amused by his furrowed brow and the clear disgust written across his face. Merlin grits his teeth, hating Arthur’s awfulness, and carefully attempts to determine what might be inside this old, clearly decaying woman. He feels nothing. After five minutes he withdraws his fingers and steps back, pulling off his gloves, disposing of them, sliding the discretion curtain around the woman so that she can get dressed again, and then liberally and hurriedly applying hand sanitiser to his hands right up to his elbows, much to Arthur’s amusement. When the woman reemerges, Merlin sits her down, and takes a seat opposite her.

“I’m afraid I can’t locate the cause of the problem, Mrs Owens,” he says, looking puzzled, reading her notes again, for symptoms. “I think the next step will be to book you in for a scan, and see what we can find on that?” Mrs Owens takes his hand in hers, pressing into it a fluff-covered biscuit from her handbag. Merlin looks down, nonplussed.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you dear, I feel much better now. But it’s all been very pleasant, thank you.” She leaves a gaping Merlin holding a mouldy biscuit behind her, brain short-circuiting and stuttering with incredulity.

“She couldn’t possibly mean …” Merlin starts, looking ill, “no. No. I mean …” he throws the biscuit into the unsanitary waste bin and sits down heavily. “What on earth just … did she …?” Arthur stands up.

“We get them sometimes. Horny old biddies who just want a good fingering by a handsome young man. Apparently you did a good job - go you! I know it’s not your area of expertise.” Merlin looks at Arthur witheringly.

“Has anyone ever tried to kill you?” he grinds out, glaring daggers.

“Only with orgasms,” Arthur says breezily. “ _La petite mort_ the French call it … the little death. I’m killed daily, by all accounts.” Merlin wrinkles his nose.

“I can’t imagine why. You’re completely unbearable.”

 

It’s not until he’s in bed later, shivering under the bag of frozen peas sitting on his aching head, that he realises that Arthur called him handsome.

 

*

 

_The third time it happens … later in February._

 

The hospital is running a charity quiz night at its local pub, The Rising Sun, to raise money for its specialist sister hospital; Camelot Children’s Clinic. Merlin and Arthur are on the same team, arguing.

“Who was Henry VIII’s fourth wife?” the quizmaster asks.

“Anne of Cleves,” Merlin says immediately.

“Are you sure it wasn’t one of the Catherines?” Arthur asks dubiously.

“Positive,” Merlin says.

“HIV?” Arthur asks.

“You’re a dick,” Merlin retorts, taking a gulp of bitter and a handful of salty peanuts. Anne of Cleves is announced as the answer. Merlin gives Arthur his patented _I told you so_ face.

“History buff, much?” Arthur mutters. Merlin snorts.

“No. I watched The Tudors during med school. Henry Cavill’s hot.” Arthur leans forward suggestively.

“You like big, broad, strong-jawed men then?” Merlin glances at him and takes another long drink of beery goodness.

“I don’t discriminate,” he eventually answers.

“Who was the Tenth Doctor Who?” the quizmaster booms out.

“David Tennant” they answer in unison, looking at each other in surprise.

“Best Doctor?” Arthur asks.

“Oh that’s hard. Ninth.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’re a prat.”

“Who is the highest goal scorer in world football history?” Merlin looks at Arthur.

“What, you just assume I’m a football lout?” Arthur grumbles indignantly. Merlin holds his gaze steady. “Arthur Friedenreich,” Arthur mutters. “1,329 goals.”

“It’s really sad you know that,” Merlin says seriously, circling the rim of his glass with his forefinger. He notices Arthur staring and grins wickedly.

“The lyrics: ‘ _Your butt is mine / Gonna tell you right_ ’ come from which Michael Jackson song?” the quizmaster continues.

“Bad,” Arthur answers immediately. Merlin gives him a shit-eating grin.

“You like Michael Jackson?” he squeals with glee. Arthur looks at him evenly.

“You don’t like Michael Jackson?” he replies in confusion. The rest of the table leave them to it.

 

Once the quiz has finished, and their team has placed a respectable second, they’re convinced by Freya and Gwen and Gwaine, and some of the other more excitable hospital crew, to stay on for some shot-fuelled karaoke. Gwen drags Merlin up with her to sing Madonna’s _Like a Prayer_ , and Merlin’s actually got a great voice, and is being catcalled and wolf-whistled by hospital staff and pub regulars alike. Never one to be outdone, Arthur climbs to the stage and takes the mike. Three inebriated women on the front row whoop-whoop him before he even opens his mouth and he flashes them his trademark _why, hello there, yes I'm Gilderoy Lockhart, author of Magical Me, do allow me to charm-the-pants-off-you_ grin. He can almost feel Merlin emoting disapproval from his place at the bar.

“I’d like to dedicate this song to Michael Jackson,” Arthur says seriously, to a round of enthusiastic clapping from the crowd, “may the King rest in peace.”

“The King was Elvis you tit!” someone (Merlin) shouts from the back to a smattering of laughter. Arthur shrugs as the opening chord sequence of _Dirty Diana_ floats into the air … and looks directly at Merlin as he belts out the first lyrics:

 

 _“You never make me stay,_  
_So take your weight off me,_  
_I know your every move,_  
_So won’t you just let me be,_  
_I’ve been here times before,_  
_But I was too blind to see,_  
_That you seduce every man,_  
_This time you won’t seduce me …”_

Merlin holds his gaze until the song has finished, and when Arthur gets back to the bar, having fought off the applause and fawning fans and calls for encore, Merlin looks at him speculatively and slides over a tumbler of whisky. Arthur leans in close to him, until their knees are touching and his lips graze Merlin’s ear.

“Do you think I need alcohol to want to fuck you, Merlin?” he asks lowly, and Merlin turns his head slightly, so that his lips are brushing Arthur’s.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, running hand up Arthur’s leg and looking up at Arthur from beneath his lashes. “Do you?” Arthur smirks.

“Definitely. Luckily for you I’ve had five pints. How close are you?” Merlin pulls back in surprise.

“To coming?” he clarifies, bewildered. Arthur rolls his eyes and prays to the Lord to give him strength.

“How you passed med school, I have no idea,” he says, standing up and shaking his head, throwing Merlin’s leather jacket at him. “How close _do you live to the pub_ , you complete _boob_ -”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone you plan to roger,” Merlin chastises him, standing up and shrugging on his jacket. Arthur is staring at him.

“ _Roger_?” he repeats incredulously.

“What?”

“Did you only ever watch porn from the 70s or something?”

“Never watched much porn. Lost my virginity at 15 to the local shepherd and since then I’ve found myself too occupied with actually _doing the shagging_.” Merlin downs his drink and holds up his hands. “No judgement here though, porn’s great for people who aren’t getting any.” Arthur doesn’t rise to the bait.

“You lost your virginity to a _shepherd_?” he says appalled.

“Yep.”

“I literally have no idea why I’m interested in you,” Arthur groans. Merlin smiles widely.

“Are you interested in me Arthur?” he enquires smugly. Arthur huffs and closes his eyes.

“In the same way I’m fascinated by cats that are so bloody useless and unfathomably incompetent that they fall down the stairs, yes.”

“Gosh. I _fascinate_ you.”

“Merlin,” Arthur growls.

“I live ten minutes away,” Merlin supplies helpfully.

“Works for me,” Arthur confirms, pulling Merlin by the arm out of the pub.

 

Merlin’s flat is small but homey; an old Victorian conversion crammed with bookcases and medieval pictures and rugs, old magazines and concert tickets and festival flyers piled high on the shelves and side tables. Framed photos of Merlin with his friends are stacked on the fireplace mantlepiece, and Arthur walks over to take a closer look: Merlin in a beanie on top of a mountain, grinning with his arm around a cheeky looking man; Merlin with glittery hair and eyeliner and a barely-there t-shirt, dancing in a club surrounded by pretty girls; Merlin in a wetsuit _tandem surfing_ , for fuck’s sake. There’s a lava lamp in one corner, on top of a pile of board games, and Arthur’s oddly charmed by everything. The only definitely _weird_ thing in the room is the large tank with a snake in it. Merlin finishes locking the front door and turning the lights on and then grabs the back of Arthur’s jacket and pushes him down onto the sofa, straddling him.

“You have a snake,” Arthur murmurs against his mouth as Merlin kisses him hotly, hands unbuttoning his shirt, fingers grazing over his nipples.

“Is that supposed to be a clever innuendo?” Merlin retorts, unbuttoning Arthur’s trousers impatiently, fingers everywhere, everything too slow.

“No,” Arthur protests between kisses, pointing at the tank, “you have an actual fucking python.” Merlin removes his mouth from Arthur’s and twists around to look at the tank.

“Oh. Yeah.” He shrugs.

“Figures,” Arthur says wryly, as Merlin returns to licking him.

“Please stop talking,” Merlin groans against his neck, “I’m trying to forget that you’re - ” he stops and flaps a hand at Arthur, “ - well … you. Does that work for you?” Arthur flips him over to lie back on the sofa, pressing his weight over Merlin, and bites his earlobe.

“I’m topping. _Does that work for you?_ ” Merlin opens his legs in invitation.

“There’s lube in the cactus pot.” Arthur draws back to look at him again.

“You have a large snake and you keep your lube in a pot housing a spiky, phallic plant?” Merlin sighs.

“Freud would have a field day, clearly my subconscious thinks dicks are dangerous or something, right? Whatever. My prostate is _bored_ , Arthur …” After that there’s no more talking, and that works for both of them. 

 

Arthur pushes inside Merlin; he’s tight and hot and his body, his sinews and his muscles, seem to melt and then mould themselves around Arthur. Their naked bodies fit together perfectly; Merlin arches beneath him, eyes closed, a cushion under his lower back, skinny legs wrapped around Arthur’s waist, feet digging into his bum, arms around his neck, fingers in his hair, mouth to his mouth, grunting minutely every time Arthur withdraws and thrusts back in deeply … it’s intense and dizzying and it doesn’t last long, but they come gasping into each other’s mouths and then lie entwined on the sofa, sticky and sweaty, arguing about music. Later Merlin’s on his hands and knees on the floor in front of the fireplace whilst Arthur fucks into him from behind, gripping his waist tightly, pushing Merlin down onto his belly to fuck him harder. They wake up at 3am and have a hot shower. Merlin blows Arthur, water streaming down his face, and Arthur rims Merlin, tongue-fucking his hole until Merlin comes with a surprised cry. Merlin tumbles into bed and pulls back the duvet on the other side, so that Arthur knows he’s invited to stay. At 5am, his pager goes off … there’s an emergency at the hospital. Arthur swears, groggy and sleep deprived, heading back into the shower to wake up a little, and when he emerges from the bathroom, there’s a hot coffee in a thermos travel mug waiting for him on the bedside table with a post-it note stuck to it. _Don’t wake me up again_. Arthur feels something weird flutter in his chest, and leans down to press a kiss to the lump under the duvet he assumes is Merlin’s head before leaving.

 

*

 

_The fourth time it happens … the day after._

 

Arthur’s been in surgery for 8 hours. Father of two girls. Car crash. Massive internal haemorrhaging. He dies at 2.30pm. Arthur calls it and has to tell his wife and daughters and then goes and sits behind the bins at the back of the hospital in the staff carpark, shakily taking out a cigarette and not having the energy to light it, head resting on his elbows. He hears the door open behind him, and someone sit down next to him. Then there’s a hand on his back.

“I heard,” Merlin says simply. Arthur nods into his arms. Merlin’s long fingers rub across his shoulders soothingly, the nape of his neck, the broad of his back. “You know this already,” Merlin says quietly, “but it wasn’t your fault,” Arthur lifts his head to look at him, remembering his own words. “Here -” Merlin offers, lighting Arthur’s cigarette for him. He has one too. They sit together in companiable silence, smoking. When they’ve thrown their butts into the drain, Arthur knocks his shoulder against Merlin’s.

“Thanks,” he says tiredly. Merlin shakes his head, leaning in to press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then curling his fingers into Arthur’s. Arthur looks down at their clasped hands. Strangely, it’s the most intimate thing they’ve done yet.

 

*

 

_And then it just keeps happening, so Merlin stops counting._

 

From that point onwards, they develop something of a routine. Given that they usually have the same shifts, as Merlin is shadowing Arthur, they work together, just as combatively and snarkily as they always have; Arthur giving Merlin the grossest, most unpleasant patients, and Merlin chasing Arthur down the hospital corridors shouting _you fucking clotpole!_ in retaliation. But after work they invariably end up somewhere together: Merlin’s flat for pot noodles and long, languid blowjobs that melt every bone in his tired body and bruise Arthur’s knees; a little Japanese sushi bar near the hospital for sashimi and sake and games of ‘Go’, an ancient Chinese strategy board game that Merlin loves and Arthur finds baffling; Arthur’s flat for spaghetti alle vongole, red wine, Super Mario on Arthur’s now-vintage Nintendo 64, and David Attenborough documentaries that Merlin kind of watches upside down on the sofa, or from where he’s spread out on, or pinned to, the floor; wherever Arthur happens to be fucking him this time. On the days they lose patients, or see particularly horrifying things, the sex is different. Softer, mellower, sweeter, Arthur trailing kisses along Merlin’s collarbone and ribcage and inner thighs, tenderly worshipping him, stroking and licking away the tension knots and emotional pain riddling his exhausted body. It’s never quite planned, but it’s becoming something that is perhaps a little expected, and Arthur has started to feel surprised on the days he gets to the locker room and finds Merlin has gone home already for a night to himself. Even when Merlin’s medical training with Arthur ends at the end of March, and he’s put on rotation with a different consultant, in obstetrics (Merlin grouses to Arthur that he never wants kids, and vaginas are the devil, and women are superheroes and/or lunatics for actually _choosing_ to give birth, which pretty much seems like signing yourself up for 48 hours of undignified _torture_ as your body breaks open), their schedules still crossover enough to allow them to continue seeing each other. They only tend to get one weekend off a month, if that, usually finding themselves having all-day fucking sessions midweek on their Tuesday/Wednesday fake weekends, or walking round museums and galleries together (Arthur’s choice; Merlin tags along to tease Arthur for being a child, but then finds him so cute in The Natural History Museum that he buys him dinosaur stickers and proceeds to stick them all over Arthur’s body, to Arthur’s considerable irritation). On the rare, _real_ , Saturday/Sunday weekends they have, it’s kind of gone unspoken that that’s personal time, when the rest of their friends and family become available for spending time with, and Arthur’s started to not be sure why they need ‘personal time’, given that whatever their doing has - for him - become so much more than just a workplace fling. He’d happily invite Merlin for his Saturday brunches with Morgana, or to his Sunday charity football matches with Leon and the gang, but Merlin always seems to have plans in advance; surfing in Cornwall, visiting his mum in Wales, catching up with uni mates in Edinburgh. So something isn’t quite _clicking_ , and Arthur doesn’t know why.

 

It becomes painfully clearer one Thursday evening, when Arthur’s walking home through town from meeting an old schoolfriend, Percy, at their favourite bar for a few drinks and a catch up, when he sees Merlin, who wasn’t on shift at the hospital today, giggling as he tumbles out of a French restaurant being supported by a good looking redhead. Arthur stops dead, knowing it’s none of his business, but unable to walk away. He vaguely recognises the man, thinks he might work over at Mercia Hospital in the psychiatric ward; Edward, perhaps? He’s older and his hands are all over Merlin, sliding under his jumper as he holds him upright, proceeding to push him, laughing, against the restaurant window before thoroughly kissing him. Merlin kisses him right back, hands on his arse, laughing into his chest when they come up for air, and Arthur suddenly goes cold and his chest feels too tight and he stumbles away quickly, ears ringing.

 

*

“There you are!” Merlin says cheerfully, finding Arthur having a coffee in the staff room and reading through his notes before surgery this afternoon.

“Here I am,” Arthur agrees, returning to his notes. Merlin steps closer to him and waves a hand under his nose.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “You weren’t in the canteen at lunch?”

“Not hungry,” Arthur replies shortly, refusing to look up from his notes. Merlin’s silent beside him for a moment, before he pulls up a chair to sit next to Arthur, sliding a leg between his, and taking his wrist to get his attention.

“Arthur?” he asks quietly, demanding that Arthur look at him. Arthur steels himself and looks up into Merlin’s blue, worried eyes, face gentle and concerned. He feels a bitter shard of pain spike his heart and forces himself to stay detached.

“Yes?” he replies. Merlin studies his face, confused. 

“I finish at eight tonight?” he offers eventually, the invitation implicit. 

“I’m pleased for you,” Arthur says impassively, returning again to his patient’s file. Merlin snaps the file shut impatiently.

“Arthur, what the fuck?” he hisses crossly, kicking his calf lightly. “What’s happened?” Arthur sits back in his chair and crosses his arms.

“I was downtown last night with my mate, Percy.” He looks at Merlin meaningfully. Merlin looks lost.

“Okay. So?”

“So I saw you shagging some bloke outside a restaurant.” Merlin raises his eyebrows, surprised. Then his face clears and he leans forward so his elbows are resting on his knees, looking at Arthur intently.

“So?” he asks again, pressing his knee into Arthur’s. Arthur makes disbelieving bug eyes at him, and then feels the incredulity immediately give way to sadness and fatigue; if Merlin’s not sure why Arthur might be hurt by that, it tells Arthur everything he needs to know. He’s just a convenient hook-up. Among other convenient hook-ups. He lets his arms drop.

“So I didn’t realise this was still just a casual fuck to you,” he says quietly, and Merlin frowns in disagreement. “I’m not good at sharing. I’ve had fun though, thanks Merlin.” He makes to stand up, but Merlin grips his wrist and pulls him back down.

“Stop it. Clearly we need to talk,” Merlin says seriously. He looks at the table thoughtfully. “I didn’t think you wanted more than casual? I’ve kept it open to keep it simple. It’s not fair to have expectations from someone who hasn’t made any promises to you.”

“Has it felt casual to you?” Arthur asks coldly, pulling his arm away from Merlin. “Spending most of our free time away from the hospital together for the best part of a year?”

“Well, no, but …” Merlin trails off. “It’s not like I’ve cheated on you, Arthur. We’ve been sleeping together, yes, but you never said you wanted monogamy or exclusivity or commitment or titles or a relationship. I didn’t know you wanted that. I guess I actually kind of assumed - given your reputation as a bit of a player - that you didn’t. So as and when Edwin’s been back in town from New York, or I’m out with mates in Wales … basically on the rare days we’re _not_ together, I still hook-up with people if I feel like it, yeah. It keeps things uncomplicated in my mind.” Arthur can’t really believe what he’s hearing. “I’ll stop, if you want me to,” Merlin adds easily, as though it’s obvious, tentatively putting his hand back on Arthur’s wrist. “I’m all for giving something more serious a chance.” He looks at Arthur cautiously but earnestly, face soft and warm and open. Arthur rubs his hand over his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Merlin, I just don’t get it. We’ve been so intensely and intimately connected for such a long time …” he turns pained eyes to Merlin’s. “I’ve never even for a moment _thought_ about someone else. You’re all I’ve wanted.” 

“ _Arthur,_ ” Merlin breathes, moving infinitesimally closer, both hands on Arthur’s legs, stroking his thighs. Arthur shakes himself.

“Clearly you feel differently,” Arthur says calmly, pushing his chair backwards and out of Merlin’s reach.

“ _No,_ ” Merlin objects, keeping his voice low and steady, aware they’re in a communal staff area. “It’s not that black and white, Arthur. People aren’t robots. I feel the intensity of what we have too, when we’re together. I’ve just forced myself to compartmentalise those times from the other parts of my life. I’ve purposefully kept up an emotional barrier, so I don’t fall too strongly. If it were ever to have abruptly ended between us … well, I’d have still needed to be able to work with you. Having other guys in my life has just taken the pressure off. Made it easier to manage my own expectations.” Arthur’s trying to understand what Merlin’s saying, but the child inside him is howling like its favourite toy has been taken away and played with and broken by someone else. It’s crushing. “Arthur,” Merlin tries again imploringly. “I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, I didn’t realise you wanted anything more. If more is on the table … I do want it.”

“You’ve enjoyed other men touching you the whole time _I’ve_ been touching you,” Arthur says, sickened. “You were enjoying _Edwin_ yesterday, despite leaving _my_ bed in the morning.” Arthur flinches. “Did you go home and fuck him, too?” 

“Arthur, don’t,” Merlin pleads. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s _you_ I have feelings for, and it’s _you_ I choose. I just didn’t realise that _being with you_ was an option.” Arthur bites his tongue, trying to get his head around what Merlin’s saying.

“I think if you’re sleeping with someone for a year you definitely mention the fact you’re also sleeping with other guys at some point.” Arthur looks up at Merlin’s crumpled face. “I know in theory you don’t think you’ve done anything wrong, but I feel deceived. I feel like don’t know you.”

”You do know me,” Merlin promises softly, eyes bright with pooling tears. Arthur shakes his head.

”Maybe. I need some time to figure this out. Can you just - stay away, please? For a while?” Merlin looks devastated but he nods, withdrawing and standing up slowly.

“I’ll be waiting,” he murmurs, brushing a shaky hand across his face, leaning down to kiss Arthur’s head. “You know where to find me.”

 

*

_A few weeks later … at the hospital staff’s Christmas party._

 

Merlin’s outside by the bins, having a cigarette break from Gwen’s over-excited squealing. Work Christmas parties make people cray. He leans back against the carpark wall and closes his eyes, enjoying the cool air, when he hears footsteps nearing.

“Oh,” the footsteps stop short. “You’re here.” Arthur has avoided Merlin since their staff room conversation. Merlin’s fairly certain that he convinced HR to change their shift rotas, so they wouldn’t have to bump into each other. It’s left a physical gap in his life and a powerful, nauseating ache inside him. Merlin opens his eyes and finds Arthur standing in front him looking impossibly handsome, blonde hair glinting gold under the carpark lighting, face flushed pink and almost ethereally beautiful in the icy air. “Cold night,” he comments, face unreadable. Merlin hates small talk, hates what it signifies, the gaping chasm between them, and he refuses to do it, to stand here and talk about the weather.

“I miss you,” he admits instead, candid and straight to the point, baring his heart to Arthur, who is huddled by the wall trying to light his fag. Arthur stops short, breathing heavily, looking at the ground. “I ended things with Edwin. We’re not in contact anymore. I’m not shagging about.” Arthur turns to look at him, raw need in his eyes, body tensed as though he’s wilfully keeping control of himself. “I want _you_ ,” Merlin whispers, dropping his cigarette to the floor and crumpling against the wall as Arthur groans and grabs him, hands circling his lower back, tongue licking into his mouth, and Merlin moans “fucking _finally_ ” against his lips and smiles as Arthur huffs “shut up _Mer_ lin” into his neck. They make out messily and needily and embarrassingly, like teenagers, and Merlin gasps as he feels a familiar wet patch bloom across his crotch. His head thuds back against the concrete.

“Oh, fuck, not again,” he curses, holding Arthur against him tightly as Arthur mouths wetly at his neck, dry humping his leg, until he too, comes with a relieved moan. They look at each other quietly, assessingly, breathless, questioning, _loving_ , before Arthur tenderly kisses Merlin’s nose, resting his forehead against Merlin’s own.

“I know it’s a Christmas party and these things have rules, like what happens at the party stays at the party … BUT,” Arthur kisses the corner of Merlin’s mouth, “I love you. I don’t want this to be casual. I’d quite like for you to be my completely exclusive, monogamous, deeply committed boyfriend and for you to come to Saturday brunch with my sister and Sunday football with my friends. I want to meet your mum and help on your uncle’s farm and learn to tandem surf with you. I think it would make sense, quite soon, to just move in together, and figure out our insane work schedules from the same bed. I don’t share, I’m very jealous and over-possessive. You’re going to have to love that about me or it won’t work. Have I missed anything out, or are you completely clear about my expectations from you this time?” Merlin laughs his wonderful laugh, grinning and hugging Arthur close to him and kissing every inch of skin with profound adoration.

“Completely clear. Excellent terms and conditions. I accept, thank you. I love you also.”

“You’re sure you won’t get bored of just me?” Arthur asks him seriously. Merlin scoffs and licks into Arthur’s mouth.

“Impossible,” he murmurs dismissively, shivering in Arthur’s arms.

“Certain?” Arthur checks. Merlin takes his face between his hands, eyes endlessly fond, and nods.

“Trust me,” he smiles. “I’m a Doctor.”

 

*

The End

 


End file.
